With Great Power Comes Great Leverage
by mwalker
Summary: The three-person Leverage team (after the last season of the show) is investigating Wilson Fisk. They are at the wrestling ring where Peter Parker lets a thief go free. A young man who misused his power and learned his lesson meets some people who want to do good in the world, and could use the help. Could it be that with Great Power comes Great Responsibility to provide Leverage?
1. Chapter 1

**With Great Power Comes Great Leverage**

 **Chapter 1**

 _ **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Peter has already been bitten by the radioactive spider at this point. This takes place after the Leverage finale episode. Spider-Man is based on Ultimate Spider-Man combined with the Marvel Cinematic Universe._

"Ben," said May, "another letter?"

Ben Parker waved the paper in the air, and said to his wife, "another offer, and just as insultingly low. I've talked to our neighbors—they're all getting them. Apparently this company 'Fisk Industries' is trying to spin this as 'blight control.' Can you believe it?"

"Now, Ben Parker, you'd better calm down, or you'll give yourself apoplexy!" declared May.

"A blight!" said Ben. "This is the safest area of any of the boroughs! A blight!"

"What's a blight?" said their nephew Peter, who swung over the bannister with one arm and landed on his feet in the living room.

"Do I see someone who finished their homework?" asked May. She leaned in, and Peter presented his cheek for a kiss from his aunt.

"Absolutely," said Peter. "It was a breeze. Say, can I run over to the library tonight? I've got something I want to research, and I need an actual book instead of looking online."

"And they have the book?" Ben asked.

Peter smiled and nodded. "I found that out online."

Ben chuckled. "Well, I don't see any reason why not. You'll be back by 10?"

"Of course!" said Peter.

May shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "You've just gotten over that sudden flu, and there are so many unsavory characters out after dark."

Peter rolled his eyes. "You know I'll be careful, Aunt May," he said. "It's only a block past the bus stop. I'll be fine."

"Be careful then," said May. "And eat something first!"

After dinner, Peter packed up his school backpack, but he didn't put any books inside. Instead it held a costume that he'd put together, with a ski mask, a secondhand turtleneck shirt, and jeans. He'd drawn a stylized spider shape on the shirt.

 _The Amazing Spider-Man,_ he thought, _soon to be the world's best wrestler! With these new powers, I can defeat anyone! Then Uncle Ben and Aunt May can ignore those foreclosure letters, and we'll all be happy!_

He skipped the bus, deciding to save the fare. The buildings weren't skyscrapers; they were mostly two-or-three story homes, stores, or apartments. They didn't get in his way, since with his new powers he was fast and nimble enough to crawl up buildings and leap between rooftops. Besides, the bus went toward the library, and the library wasn't where he was headed tonight.

The sign proclaimed it to be the "Wrestling Crushers Arena" and it had seen better days back when it was in a better neighborhood. But they had offered $3000 to anyone who could "survive" a cage match with the local champion for 10 minutes, and Peter knew he could. An extra $2000 was on the line if he actually won. He anticipated winning the full $5000 tonight, telling his uncle and aunt about his new powers, and making everyone happy.

* * *

As Peter entered the cage in his homemade wrestling costume, two figures near the rear of the crowd took an interest.

"The Amazing Spider-Man?" said Alec Hardison. Wrestling really wasn't his area of expertise. Instead, he was putting his hacking skills to work, entering the gym's wifi network using what looked like an ordinary cell phone. Since he had built it himself, it was far from ordinary. "Hokey name."

"You need a name like that in his business," said Eliot Spencer, who was more interested in the fight than the hack, and not just because he was the team's hitter. The local champion, who used the name "Bonesaw," was as tough a wrestler as he'd ever seen. They had just watched him injure several of his opponents. "Besides, this Spider-guy is just flash. Look at that—a wrestling mask? This ain't Mexico, hombre. Bonesaw's gonna rip him up bad."

"Have you actually done this?" Hardison asked, suddenly curious.

Eliot shook his head. "Nah," he said. "No challenge. These guys are tough, but they don't usually know how to fight smart, just dirty, and… what the hell?"

Hardison looked up from his phone. "What? What?"

"That guy, 'Spider-Man,' just jumped completely over Bonesaw," said Eliot. "How's he doing that? A trained athlete might be able to make that jump, but… is he climbing up the cage?"

"Yeah," said Hardison. "Is he… is he like one of those super guys? Like the Avengers?"

"Why would he be wrestling if he's got access to Tony Stark?" said Eliot. "$5000 would be chump change."

"Maybe he was part of S.H.I.E.L.D. when they disbanded," said Hardison. "Now he needs money."

"Hey," said a voice in their earpieces, "some of us are still hanging outside. Could you speed it up?"

"Sorry, Parker," said Hardison, "our esteemed colleague distracted me." He continued to hack the gym's surprisingly good systems, despite Eliot's attempts to get him to watch the match.

"There," he said. "The outside alarms are turned off, as well as the safe's connection to the alarm company. If the combination is correct, you'll have no problem emptying one small-time bad guy's safe."

"As soon as the manager leaves his office," she said. "He actually has the safe open right now."

"OH MY GOD!" cried Eliot. "He actually won! That's amazing!"

"Probably why they call him the Amazing Spider-Man," said Parker.

"Parker, you'll have to wait," said Hardison. "It looks like the one-and-only Amazing Spider-Man is headed upstairs, probably to get his paycheck."

"Terrific," she muttered, and continued to cling halfway up the building on her rope line. She risked a peek into the office, and saw the masked wrestler enter. She placed a microphone against the window to listen.

"I'm here for my money," he said.

"Fine," said the manager, and threw a bundle at him.

The wrestler counted it. "There's only $1000 here. You said $5000. I beat him."

"You didn't last 10 minutes," said the manager. "The money's for entertaining the crowd, not makin' 'em go home early. Take it and go."

"I need the $5000," said the wrestler. "My uncle and aunt…."

"Not my problem," said the manager. "Now get."

The wrestler's shoulders slumped. Parker saw him shove them money into a backpack, and then leave the office and head for the stairs. The manager stood up. Parker flexed her hands, ready for action.

It was right then another man burst in.

"Someone else is in the office," she whispered. "He's got a gun."

"That must be the guy we saw go out the door," said Hardison.

"Thanks," said Parker. "He's robbing the place!"

The robber pulled the contents of the safe into a duffle bag. Not just the money, but all the paperwork the Leverage team wanted to steal, the secret books that might tie this small-time arena to the bigger fish.

"We're coming," said Eliot. He and Hardison shoved through the crowd towards the door that led upstairs. They reached it, but couldn't get through. The masked wrestler, the Amazing Spider-Man, stood in the door as the robber came downstairs.

"Stop him!" the manager yelled. Instead, the wrestler stepped to one side, coincidentally blocking Hardison and Eliot.

"Thanks, man," the robber said, and ran out the side door and into the night.

"Why didn't you stop him?" demanded the manager. "I saw you in the ring. He'd have been no match for you!"

The Amazing Spider-Man shrugged. "Not my problem," he said, and left the building.

"Not your problem?" demanded Eliot.

Peter turned around. "Didn't see you doing anything, loudmouth," he said, then ran out of sight.

"Parker," said Eliot, "do you see anyone running away?"

"I was in the office," said Parker, "to see if there was anything else. I'm just leaving now."

"He got it all, didn't he," said Hardison.

"'Fraid so," said Parker.

"Are you outside then?" asked Eliot. "Did you see the wrestler, the Spider guy? He was heading your way."

Parker looked around as she lowered herself to the ground. "Not a sign," she said. Over her head, a masked figure jumped unnoticed across the alley and headed for home.

"Come on," said Hardison. He ran for their van.

"Now what?" said Eliot. "We can't just drive around until we find them."

"Don't need to," said Hardison as Parker threw her toolkit in ahead of her, then slammed the door behind her. "I threw a tracer on the thief."

"You what?" demanded Eliot.

Hardison tossed a tiny device to Eliot then put the van in gear and pulled out into traffic. "I've been developing these little tracers," he said, "for awhile now. I thought they might come in handy. A quick toss, the legs grab on to clothing fibers, and we can track them using any frequency I choose if we can get close enough." He flipped a switch, and an arrow appeared on the screen. "And he's still close enough."

* * *

Peter rested on a rooftop, afraid to go home. He was more angry than he'd ever been. For a moment, he'd been tempted to follow the robber and take the money he knew he was entitled to, but he couldn't bring himself to cross that line. He couldn't imagine facing Uncle Ben and Aunt May with stolen money in his hands, even if he did deserve some of it.

"I've got $1000," he said to himself. "That should help a little. I'll tell them I've been doing odd jobs for people." He stood up, swung his arms to limber up, and got a running start for a street-clearing jump.

 _Maybe I can get a gold medal in the Olympics,_ he thought as he sped home. In the distance ahead of him, he saw the flashing lights of a police car, so he decided to stop while he was still a block away. He dropped between two buildings where it was dark. Instead of changing clothes, he just zipped up his coat. Home was only a quick jog away.

His heart felt like a rock when he realized the police car was parked in front of his home. Worse, there was an ambulance there, too.

"NO!" Peter yelled, and ran. A policeman stood in the front door.

"I live here," said Peter, before the officer could say anything. The officer let Peter shove him out of the way. May was sitting on the couch next to a female officer. She was crying.

"Aunt May?" asked Peter. His voice broke.

"Peter!" she cried. "It was… a man came… Ben was on the porch…."

"Where is he?" said Peter. He turned to the beer-bellied policeman standing next to him. "Where's my uncle Ben?"

"I'm sorry, son," said the officer. "A man accosted your uncle, demanded the car keys and his wallet. Your uncle gave him his keys, but he didn't have his wallet on him. The man shot him. I'm sorry, son. Your uncle is dead."

May let out a wail. Peter stood like a statue, to stunned to move.

"No!" he finally yelled, and ran out of the front door. He heard his aunt call for him. In his grief and anger it sounded like she was miles away, and all Peter could think of was finding the man who took his uncle's life. Nobody saw him as he dashed across the rooftops, only pausing once to put on his mask. He heard sirens coming from in toward to the heart of the borough. He followed the sound.

* * *

"Your tracker is broken, Hardison!" yelled Eliot.

"He's just in a car!" said Hardison. He wasn't used to high-speed chases, especially in a van designed for surveillance and hacking more than it was car chases. He swung on a major street, and activated a siren and a flashing light.

"Parker," he said, "your FBI jacket is in the back locker. Put it on."

"Okay," said Parker, grabbing the coat. "When the cops stop him, we 'request' the papers," she said. "I can do that."

The tracker led them to a construction site. There were cop cars surrounding the unfinished skeleton of a building.

"He's inside," Harrison said.

"Change of plans," said Parker, shrugging out of the coat. "You play FBI. I'm going after him."

Hardison caught her eye. "Be careful," he said, enunciating each word carefully.

She smiled. She knew he was only that serious when he was talking about things that truly mattered to him. She was proud to be one of them. "Don't worry," she said, "No one will see me." She jumped out of the van when as it pulled to a stop, ran behind a pile of girders, and then she was one with the shadows.

* * *

Peter had no problem spotting his uncle's car, especially since it was being followed by three cop cars and a police van. His uncle's murderer must have run into the framework of the building that was under construction.

"He won't be coming out," Peter swore. He jumped off of the neighboring building and landed on the roof, then swung himself inside with one hand.

"Here, murderer murderer murderer," Peter called out in a sing-song voice. "Come and get what you deserve!"

* * *

"Did you see that?" said Eliot.

Hardison had been looking at his phone. "What?"

Eliot touched his earpiece. "Parker, that wrestler, Spider-Man… he's in the building! He just went in!"

"What's he doing here?" she whispered.

"They're in it together!" said Eliot. "It's the only thing that makes sense. They're going to split up the money or something. Hell, maybe he works for the Kingpin! Just watch out!"

* * *

Peter ran across the floor, trying to find his quarry. He saw movement behind a post, and sprung around to the other side.

"Surprise!" he yelled, then he stopped, confused. It wasn't the man with the bag. It was a young blonde women dressed all in black. "Who are you?" he said.

She responded with a roundhouse kick aimed at his head. The odd sensation he'd felt the last few days whenever he was in danger kicked in, and he let his reflexes move him out of the way. She kicked twice more, missing both times, then fell through a hole in the floor.

Peter blinked behind his mask. He realized she hadn't fallen, she'd deliberately jumped, and had kicked him only to cover her escape.

"You meet the weirdest people in New York," he finally concluded, and then resumed his hunt for the uncle's killer.

Peter heard footsteps, and followed the sound until found his target. His uncle's murderer was glancing around, first one way and then another, back and forth. He was holding on to a duffle bag like his life depended on it.

Peter called out, "Looking for someone?"

The man whirled in place, and Peter's spider-sense kicked in again, letting him dodge as the man emptied his gun. To the thief, it was like Peter vanished into the shadows.

Peter crawled along the ceiling behind the man, then stood upside-down behind him.

"Boo!" he said.

The man screamed as he spun around, He tried to fire his pistol, but the empty chambers only clicked.

"You think you can murder an old man?" said Peter. "You think you can get away with it?"

He realized he was yelling, but he didn't care. "You think you're going to survive me?!"

The man dropped the duffle bag and ran. Peter caught up with him just as he reached the edge of the building and lifted him with one hand.

"Let's see who you are," said Peter. Beneath his mask, his eyes widened in shock and fear.

"It's you," he whispered. "You robbed the arena."

"Did he send you?" the robber suddenly yelled. "He did! I'm sorry I took the money! I'm sorry! Please don't kill me! It's all there, in the bag! Everything he wanted! Please!"

"I could've…." Peter dropped the man, and fell backwards against a support beam. "I was there, and I let you get away!" He yelled at his uncle's killer. "I LET YOU GET AWAY!"

"NO!" yelled the man. He backed away from Peter, not realizing how close to the open edge of the building he was. Peter realized it too late, and couldn't grab the thief in time. The man fell from six stories up.

The police pointed their high-power lights up at Peter, but he ducked away before they could see him. He pulled his mask off and fell against a beam.

"He killed Uncle Ben," Peter said. His voice wavered and broke. "He killed him and I let him get away. If I had stopped him… if I had…." He sank down and wept until he heard the cops coming into the building. Then he stood up, wiped his eyes, and looked around for the duffle.

It was gone.

He ran for the edge of the building. Nothing there but police cars.

 _Police cars?_ he thought. _Wasn't there a van? And the man… he was afraid someone was going to kill him for what was in that duffle. Someone else is involved. But who?_

* * *

Parker unzipped the duffle as the van drove off down the main street. It held a lot of money, but it also held the documents they'd been looking for. Parker handed some of them to Eliot as they drove, and she described her encounter with Spider-Man.

"He was fast," she said. "He dodged every kick. I've never seen someone that fast. But he didn't know I was escaping. I think he could have stopped me if he'd wanted to, but he was interested in the robber. He was yelling about getting away with murder."

"I talked to the police," said Hardison. "The guy murdered someone and stole his car. This Spider-Man must have felt guilty for letting him go."

"He should," said Eliot. He held up the paper he was reading. "This is it. The arena is definitely held by one of the Fisk Industries holding companies. He's definitely behind the buyouts and the foreclosures."

"We knew that, though," said Parker. "Do we have anything we can use?"

"These will let me better track his finances," said Hardison. "Triangulate a little bit, baby."

"Let's hope so," said Eliot. "He's already bought up so many of the areas that were damaged in the alien and Hulk attacks, it's like he wants to become king."

"Maybe that's why he's called the Kingpin," said Parker.

"My point, Parker," said Eliot, "is that kings have armies. It's not going to be enough to hurt him financially. We'll need to find something with all of this that will drive him out of society."

"I'll find it," said Hardison. "All I need to deeper access into Fisk Tower and I'll get it."

"You think you're pretty smart," said Eliot.

Parker smiled. "He is."

Hardison pulled into the parking garage at Leverage Consulting and Associates's brand new New York City office. "Age of the geek, baby, age of the geek."


	2. Chapter 2

**With Great Power Comes Great Leverage**

 **Chapter 2**

The funeral was large. Many people had called Ben Parker a friend. Most of them extended offers of help to May, and she was grateful. Peter could only feel miserable, and it was all he could do not to break down. He felt so incredibly frustrated. He wanted to rail against the universe. He wanted to stand up and confess. He wanted to do something more, something to make up for his mistake, but he didn't know what.

When the graveside service was done, Peter helped Aunt May back to the car. A man in a tailored suit was waiting at the car for them.

"May I help you?" asked May, politely.

"Perhaps I can help you," he said. "First, my sincere condolences on the loss of your husband, Mrs. Parker."

"Thank you," she said.

"Secondly, this," he said, handing her a business card.

"Fisk Industries," read May. She dropped the card on the wet ground. "I hardly think my husband's funeral is the appropriate moment for this."

"You have almost no savings, Mrs. Parker," said the man. "We can help you, and give you sufficient funds so that you can live your life in a modicum of comfort. I honestly do wish you had accepted my employer's offer. Again, my condolences." He turned and walked away.

"The nerve of that man," said Aunt May. "Peter, get in the car. We're going home."

Peter said nothing for most of the drive, but then had to break the silence.

"Aunt May," he began, "I've saved up some money from doing odd jobs and things. It's yours if you need it."

"Peter, that is very sweet of you," she replied, "but despite what the horrible man said, we are not running out of money."

"I just want to help out," said Peter. "I know what's happening, Aunt May. I read the letters that Fisk Industries sent. They're trying to repossess every home and business in the neighborhood."

"Ben wouldn't have run, and neither will we," May said.

Peter said, "there must be something I can do."

"Something will turn up," said May. They pulled into the driveway. Peter saw an envelope on the front door. He ran up and grabbed it while May opened the door.

"Hand it to me, Peter," she said.

He gave the envelope to her. She opened it, and fell down into a chair.

"What is it?" said Peter, kneeling beside her.

"A foreclosure notice," she said. "But it can't be! It can't!"

There was a knock on the door, and their neighbor, Anna Watson, opened it an poked her head in. She was still dressed in her funeral clothing.

"May, did you… oh, you received one, too."

"Anna? You, too?" asked May.

"I called a few other neighbors," said Anna. "Everyone has one. We've been discussing pooling our resources and hiring a lawyer."

"Fisk would have expensive ones," said Peter. He hated to say it. "He's probably bought his share of judges, too. You know how it is, Aunt May—the rich and powerful take what they want."

"Then what can we do?" asked May.

"There's one possibility," said Anna. "I have a number at home."

* * *

"We're not getting in," said Hardison. He got back in the van. "We could easily talk our way in to the lower floors, but getting to the upper floors where Fisk has the most security—that is out of my league."

"Nothing is out of your league, Hardison," said Eliot. "So stop griping and do it."

"There is nothing I would like more than to be the one who breaks that security," said Hardison, "but it's not going to happen. If we try to talk our way in, we'll be escorted off the premises. I'm going out on a limb and just assume they'd shoot us if we caused trouble, and create evidence for the police later. Assuming he hasn't just bought them off."

"It's almost dusk," said Parker. "I'll climb up. The building hasn't been designed that can stop me."

* * *

Three hours later found Parker running for the van, followed by Eliot. He turned and punched one of the guards who was chasing them, then sprinted after Parker. Hardison pulled up in the van with the side door open, and both of them dove inside.

"That'll be another license plate change," said Hardison.

"Every surface I could place a hook was trapped or watched or… I don't know, motion detectors, cameras, laser grids… I've never seen a building like it. The Smithsonian gem collection isn't that well guarded! I might be able to get inside the lower levels, but I think even the air ducts are on separate systems between the lower and upper floors! I've never seen security that paranoid!"

"What would Nate do in a situation like this?" said Eliot. "If we can't go in one way, there must be another." But no one came up with any ideas as they drove back to their office in silence.

A message waited for them on the phone when they reached their headquarters.

"Hello? My name is May Parker. A friend thought you might be able and willing to help us. Our entire neighborhood is being foreclosed upon by Fisk Industries, and we simply do not know what to do."

Parker picked up the phone, and called back. "Is this May Parker? I represent Leverage Consulting and Associates. Would it be possible to speak with you tomorrow morning? Okay. We will see you then."

"If we can't even get inside the building," said Hardison, "how are we going to help?"

"We'll think of something," said Parker. "First, let's hear what's happening to these people, and then we'll see what we can do."

"I'll get the van's plates changed and paint it a new color." Hardison sighed, then looked at Parker. A smile came, unbidden, to his face. "How does blue sound?"

Parker smiled. "I like blue."

* * *

Peter paced back-and-forth in his room upstairs. He'd looked up this "Leverage Consulting and Associates" online, but hadn't found much. They were an old company ( _Who had consultants in 1913?_ thought Peter, but he didn't have an answer). They did seem to have a reputation as problem-solvers, but a lot of details were missing, and the stories only dated from a few years back. Peter may not have been a news reporter or a detective, but he watched TV, and he knew that a lack of history was never good.

As a teenager, he hadn't been invited to attend the meeting. His Aunt May, their neighbor Anna Watson, and several of their other neighbors were downstairs in the living room waiting.

Peter saw a car pull up out front, and three people get out—two men and a woman. She seemed familiar — in fact, Peter could've sworn he'd seen them someplace. But where? He heard the doorbell ring, and decided he had to know. He quietly left his room and crawled half-way down the stairs, hanging from the ceiling just out of sight. He lowered himself enough to see with one eye, deciding to trust his new danger sense to alert him is someone looked that direction. Introductions had just finished. The blonde woman— _where do I know her from?_ thought Peter again—was seated with her two associates standing behind her. Aunt May was explaining their situation.

"… so you see, we are all up on our mortgage payments. The Grunberg's actually own their home. None of us are behind on our taxes. But somehow, our homes are about to be repossessed. How is this possible?"

"I did some research," said the tall black man who was standing behind the blonde woman. "It appears that there was a judgment handed down by a municipal judge, the so-called Honorable Howard Smithers. It was signed late two nights ago. The excuse is an increase in the crime rate—specifically, the murder of your husband, Mrs. Parker." He nodded. "Our condolences, of course."

Aunt May nodded back, with a grim look on her face. "But this is the first crime other than petty theft in years."

The other man, shorter and sporting a ponytail, spoke up. "Like Hardison said, it's an excuse. I spoke to some local lawyers, Nelson and Murdock. While they were reluctant to say anything that might be construed as slander…."

"The judge is dirty," said the blonde woman. "And it is unlikely we could get another judge to overrule it in time. Fisk Industries has either bribed or threatened a great many people."

"But… but… it's wrong!" said Anna Watson, prompting angry comments from the rest of the neighbors.

The blonde woman waited for the conversations to die, then spoke.

"People like Fisk, they have all the money, they have all the power and they use it to make people like you go away. Right now you are suffering under an enormous weight. We provide… Leverage."

 _'With a lever I will move the whole world,'_ thought Peter, as the old quote from Archimedes came to his mind. _But what are they going to do?_

His Aunt May echoed his concerns. "Are you… what are you going to do?"

"Everything in our power," said the blonde woman. "We have been looking into Wilson Fisk and his corporations for some time. We will not stop until his sins come home to roost. We have done this kind of thing before."

Anna Watson spoke. "I hate to mention this, but none of us have very much money."

Ponytail Man smiled. Peter felt like swallowing his tongue — the man had a friendly smile, but there was a hardness behind it that made Peter nervous.

"Don't worry about that," said the man. "We have an… alternate revenue stream for this job. If we could just have one of those foreclosure notices, and any other information you can give us…."

Peter's Spider-Sense flared, and he jerked his head up, and leaped up the staircase and into his room.

He heard voices from downstairs and the front door opening and closing. From his window he saw his neighbors heading for home.

"Where do I know them from?" he said. "I swear I've heard them or seen them or… I don't know."

He sat by the window, deep in thought, watching everyone leave. Finally the Leverage people walked out to their car. Aunt May came into his room a moment later.

"We're done, Peter, dear," she said. "I'm going to make some lunch."

"Sure, Aunt May," he said. He stood up. "I'll help."

When he stood up, he was easily visible in the window. Ponytail Man and the blonde women turned and looked up at him. His eyes grew wide as he suddenly realized where he'd seen them.

"Are you okay, dear?" asked Aunt May.

Peter calmed himself. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Let's go make some of your patented special sandwiches."

His aunt chuckled more than the joke deserved as they walked downstairs, but Peter couldn't stop thinking about the Leverage people.

 _The blonde… she was in the building. She attacked me! She probably stole the money! And Ponytail… I know he was at the wrestling arena, and maybe the other one was, too. What are they up to?_

Peter swore he'd get the answer to that question, and he knew just how to do it.


	3. Chapter 3

**With Great Power Comes Great Leverage**

 **Chapter 3**

"Damn it, Hardison!"

Alec Hardison sighed, but didn't stop putting on a respectable tie. "I'm the only one who can, Eliot," he said. "Tara's busy, and I'm not calling Sophie back."

"They've seen you," said Eliot.

"It's a job interview with a company on the 10th floor," said Hardison. "I need to see everything from close up. I'll do the interview, then lose myself on the way to the elevator. By then, Parker will have lifted a keycard and you'll be playing janitor. We've done this kind of thing 50 times."

"They've seen you, Hardison!" repeated Eliot, clenching his fists. "And if I can't get past the entrance, then what? You'll be up there without backup! Are you gonna think 'em to death? Dammit! Why do I listen to you?"

Eliot followed Hardison out to the van, which had already been painted to match the logo of a cleaning service that operated in Fisk Tower. Parker was already waiting next it, dressed in janitorial coveralls.

They dropped Hardison off two blocks away, out of sight of the tower. He briskly walked the rest of the way, looking just like a computer professional who needed a new job. He checked in at the front desk, and they called his interviewer. She arrived quickly.

On the way up to the 10th floor, he said, "Nice elevator. A very smooth ride." That was a code to Parker and Eliot that he was arriving at his floor.

His interviewer looked slightly perplexed, but said, "Yes, it is."

Eliot's voice sounded over the earpiece. "Got it, Hardison. We're pulling into the garage now."

Hardison accepted a bottle of water from the interviewer, and settled down to answering her bland questions with bland answers—after all, he really didn't want the job.

"I've got a keycard," said Parker. "Where are you, Eliot?"

"Just found the janitor closet, but it's locked," he said. "I'm heading for the men's restroom. And that's locked, too. Parker, where are you?"

"Loading dock," she said. Eliot turned the corner, bent over to take a drink from a water fountain to give him a chance to look around.

"Heading for the dock," he said, standing upright. "No one is following me that I can see."

"Mr. Hardwell," said his interviewer, using his alias, "you seem distracted. Is everything okay?"

Hardison said, "Oh, yes, very much so. I'm nervous—I hate interviews." That much, at least, was true.

"Then I must apologize," she said.

"For what?" asked Hardison.

"This interview is about to get more complicated," she said. "You see, Mr. Fisk does not like it when people try to invade his building."

Hardison's eyes widened and he leaped to his feet. Before he could run, the phony interviewer pulled a gun.

"Did you think you were safe below the 11th floor?" she asked. "The Kingpin has eyes everywhere."

* * *

Parker heard Hardison's predicament. She swallowed hard, but didn't stop moving through the vents she'd gotten into. She was almost at the dock.

"Dammit!" said Eliot. "Parker, without that card, I can't get up to help Hardison."

"Almost to the loading dock," she said. "Ten seconds."

Five seconds later, Eliot said, "Parker, get out of here! Now!" Parker and Hardison heard gunshots through the communicators.

* * *

Eliot ran out on to the loading dock, only to see two people waiting for him, people that he knew too well and who welcomed him with a spray of bullets. He dove behind some pallets. He hoped the boxes on the pallets weren't empty.

"Parker!" he hissed. "Get out of here! Now!"

No bullets came through the boxes, but he knew he wasn't safe, not from these people.

"Eliot Spencer! Come now, why hide from old friends?"

"Who is that?" said Parker.

"Old friends?" yelled Eliot. "Old friends don't open fire on each other, Dan. Or do you still prefer 'Fancy Dan'?"

The man called Fancy Dan smiled. "Eliot, Eliot, Eliot… you know with old friends like those we tend to have, it's best to shoot first, and say hello later. Oh, but that's right—you don't shoot people anymore. A pity you aren't armed. You were an excellent shot."

"Heh, heh," came a deep bass laugh. "Yeah. Too bad."

"That you, Ox?" said Eliot. "What happened to Montana? His lasso act get old?"

"He's in the slammer," said Fancy Dan. "He attacked the wrong Avenger."

"And now you're working for the Kingpin," said Eliot. "That's low, even for the Enforcers."

"We could use a third man on a temporary basis," said Fancy Dan. "Interested? I'm sure the Kingpin would be happy to pay for your services, even if you aren't a killer anymore. After working for Damien Moreau, Fisk would be a good addition to your résumé."

Eliot snorted. "I wouldn't work for Fisk if it was the last job on Earth."

"We don't work for him," said Ox. "We just dropped someone off, and he offered us an extra job for the day. Good pay, too."

"The job turned out to be you," said Fancy Dan. "The others, they'll be captured, but you… I suppose you're just too dangerous, Eliot. Time to die."

He heard their footsteps crossing the loading area, and desperately looked around. There was literally no place to go.

"Eliot," said Parker in his ear, "get ready."

"For what?" Eliot said.

With a loud crash, an oversized A/C grate fell from the ceiling, landing directly on the two Enforcers. Fancy Dan went down, but Ox was still mostly upright. Eliot bolted and kicked his knee, putting him down. Parker fell from the ceiling, landing on the grate and finishing the knock-out job.

"Come on," she said. "I've got the badge. It will get us upstairs."

"Where are we going, Parker!" he said, running behind her.

"Service elevator," she said. "They took Hardison upstairs. We need to rescue him."

"I said this was a bad idea," Eliot griped, as he scrambled after her. "Didn't I say that?" As the service elevator doors closed on them, he added, "Why doesn't anyone ever listen to me?"


	4. Chapter 4

**With Great Power Comes Great Leverage**

 **Chapter 4**

The phony interviewer still held Hardison at gunpoint as the elevator rose. Hardison had already decided not to waste his time playing stupid. He would try to escape, hopefully without getting himself shot, and he would simultaneously stall for time to give his teammates a chance to rescue him. They hadn't taken his earpiece, which means he was still in touch with his teammates, but he had to be careful what he said.

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened.

"The 18th floor isn't the top," he said. "I thought Fisk's office would be at the top."

His captor leered at him. "Like you're important enough to see the Kingpin. Keep moving, dead man."

They ended up at an inside office. A large guard stood outside. His captor gestured with her gun. Without other options, he chose to walk in.

"Just wait here," she said. "Someone will be along to help you tell us who you work for."

As soon as the door was closed, Hardison started talking. "I'm on the 18th floor," he said. "From the main bank of elevators, turn right, then left. I'm in room 18325. Watch out for the guard outside."

"On our way," said Parker.

Eliot added, "Is the guard armed?"

"Probably, but I didn't see a gun," said Hardison. "He's a big man. Maybe he doesn't need a gun."

"Like Eliot doesn't need one, or like Captain America doesn't need one?" asked Parker.

"No idea," said Hardison. "And guys… this office is the nicest cell I've ever been in, but it's empty, and I mean empty. No power plugs, no data ports, and light is coming from behind a thick barrier. I am not hacking my way out."

"We're coming," said Parker, as the service elevator opened to the 18th floor. Eliot stepped out first, then gestured to Parker.

"Which way?" he said.

"That way," she said, and let him go first. They quickly came to the right hallway. Eliot pulled back.

"The guard was looking the other way," he said.

"Finally, some good luck," said Hardison.

"Even better," said Eliot, "I think he's actually carrying a gun."

"How is that better?" demanded Hardison.

Eliot answered the question by running down the hall, full speed. The guard saw him coming and reached for his gun, but he couldn't draw it before Eliot slammed into him. Two fast punches later and he was out cold on the floor.

Parker opened the door so Eliot could drag the guard inside.

"Because guards who have guns take the time to use them," said Eliot. "Now let's go. Main elevator."

"M..m..m… Main elevator?" stuttered Hardison. "Where the guards are?"

"Service elevator goes down to the loading dock," said Eliot. "Two of my old friends are there."

"The Enforcers work for Fisk today," added Parker. A confused look crossed her features. "Who are the Enforcers, anyway?"

"The Enforcers?" said Hardison. "THE Enforcers? Main elevator it is."

They reached the elevator without Eliot having to punch anyone else, but before they pressed a button, the elevator doors closed and the car started rising.

"Uh oh," said Parker.

"YA THINK?" said Eliot.

Parker did a backflip, and kicked open the access panel in the roof of the elevator. "Come on!" she said. She pulled herself up. Eliot pushed Hardison through the panel just as the elevator stopped at the floor. Without any other options, Eliot hid in a corner.

"… pay you for!" yelled a voice. Eliot took a quick peek around the corner, and saw a timid-looking man walk away from the elevator— _he must have called it,_ Eliot thought—and toward a huge man in a white suit.

 _Fisk,_ thought Eliot. _Just great. I'm in the same room as the Kingpin of Crime._

Standing next to Fisk were Fancy Dan and Ox. Eliot pressed the button, but the door didn't close.

"Close the door, Eliot," said Hardison.

"It won't close," Eliot whispered.

"You were to hire someone to remove the occupants of that neighborhood," Wilson Fisk said to the timid-looking man. He placed his hands on either side of the man's head, and picked the man up off of the floor. Eliot had heard how strong Fisk was supposed to be, but that impressed even him.

Fisk continued, "but now, I have spies invading my building, and all my plans are in jeopardy because your man showed bad judgement."

"Please, Mr. Fisk!" The man was begging for his life. "I didn't know about that Spider guy, nobody did! Nobody had ever heard of him before!"

"I don't tolerate failures in my organization," said Fisk, continuing to hold the man off the ground without any apparent effort.

"Hurry, Parker!" hissed Eliot. Hardison couldn't ask what she was doing without attracting very unwanted attention.

Fisk dropped the man, who fell to his knees, breathing heavily.

"Th… th… thank you, Mr. Fisk," the man said. He closed his eyes.

Fisk picked up his diamond-tipped cane, fingered the diamond, then swung it at the man's head. The cane barely slowed. Blood exploded outward. A wash of red covered the lower part of Fisk's white suit.

Eliot's eyes narrowed. "Holy!" he said, before he remembered he shouldn't be talking. Fisk looked directly at him. He had murder in his eyes. Guns cleared Fancy Dan's holsters before he could blink. Eliot knew he was about to die.

"Hang on!" yelled Parker. A explosive "BAMF!" sounded from above him, and he felt the elevator start to fall. He grabbed the rail and held on. Fancy Dan and the other guards opened fire, but all the bullets hit above his head.

"She blew the cables?" said Eliot.

"The elevator has safeties," said Hardison. "Lie on the floor."

"Dammit Hardison!" said Eliot. He quickly lay down on his back. "I knew that!"

As the elevator fell, the emergency hooks slowed the elevator in jerks until they hit the shock absorbers in the ground. Eliot slowly got to his feet as Hardison and Parker slipped back in to the elevator car.

"Loading dock's this way," said Parker to Hardison.

"Fire door at the back," corrected Eliot. "Leave the other car in the garage. We'll hot-wire one off the street. Run!"

They made it to the street. Eliot saw Fancy Dan, Ox, and some security people run out the same door just before he turned the corner. Parker picked a cheaper car at the front of a row of parked cars. They were on their way before their pursuers could catch up.

"Drop the car a few blocks from our HQ," said Hardison. "Either of you have some backup cash on you?"

Parker reached into an inside pocket, and pulled out a bundle of hundreds.

"You carry that on all jobs?" asked Eliot.

"It's a good-luck charm," she said. "What do you need it for?"

Hardison took it from her, and wrote a note on a receipt he found on the floor, then put both in the glove box.

"What did you write?" said Parker.

"'Thanks, sorry for the trouble,'" said Hardison.

"You're getting soft, Hardison," said Eliot.

They drove in silence in a minute, then Parker said, "We're all getting soft, Eliot. We just got our butts handed to us."

"We're damn lucky we're still breathing," said Hardison. "You were right, Eliot, you were right."

Eliot made a noise deep in his throat, but he didn't disagree with that. Instead he said, "We needed backup. We were spread too thin. And that's been happening more and more often."

"You think we should hire some help?" said Hardison.

"Five people worked," said Eliot. "We all had our specialties. Now we're too general."

"We got good at each other's jobs," said Parker.

"Not good enough," said Eliot. "Hardison, you've become a decent grifter, and Parker, Nate trained you real well as a mastermind, but we're still spread too thin on a job."

"We're the best, baby," said Hardison. "We can handle it."

"Did we handle it today, Hardison? Did we?" demanded Eliot. "We take down crooked CEOs and congratulate ourselves with fighting the good fight, but Fisk is the big leagues. He murdered a guy in front of a room full of people, and he did it himself. He came up through the gangs and the street crime and he built an empire. He's not a soft CEO who got too greedy. We needed backup, people. We needed a bigger team."

"We aren't getting one today," said Parker, "and unless we can somehow call in the Avengers, or S.H.I.E.L.D. or someone even worse." At Hardison's sudden smile, she said, "No, Hardison, we aren't calling Iron Man."

"Please?" he said. "I always wanted to meet Tony Stark."

"No!" yelled Parker and Eliot together.

Hardison said, "Fine!" He sulked for the rest of the ride.

* * *

They entered their HQ carefully, making sure that Fisk hadn't somehow beaten them there.

Parker froze. "Everyone stop," she said.

"Good call," said Hardison. "I closed that laptop before we left. It's open, and not sleeping—someone was just here."

Parker looked at the camera feeds. "Nothing… nothing… wait!" She pointed at the camera feed. "There! There's a vent, right there above where that blur is. Someone swung in just above the cameras and… walked on the ceiling?"

"Surprise!" came a voice from above.

"He's up…."

Eliot's warning was cut off by being kicked in the head. The intruder landed on their work table.

Hardison's jaw dropped. "You're…" he said, "you're…"

"Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man!" said Peter. He was dressed in his wrestling outfit, ski mask and all. "And I'm going to stop you."

Eliot had gotten to his feet. He shook his head to clear it, grabbed a stick that he kept under the table, and swung it at Peter.

Peter easily dodged it by jumping out of the way before it could hit. "Nice try, Ponytail," he said, "but you couldn't touch me on your best day." He leaped forward, grabbing Hardison on the way. "I remember you. You were at the wrestling match. Were you helping that guy? The murderer? The thief?"

Hardison looked down from where Peter had him hanging from the ceiling.

"I never realized how much I hate cathedral ceilings," said Hardison.

Peter shook him, hard. "YOU HELPED MURDER A MAN AND STEAL PEOPLE'S MONEY," he yelled. He opened his hand, and Hardison dropped to the floor.

Eliot threw whatever he could get his hands on, but Peter dodged them all easily, and ended the assault with a kick to the chest. Eliot flew backwards into the video screens.

He turned his attention to Parker. "What's the scam with the neighborhood?" he demanded. "You kill a man, steal money, and get his widow and neighbors to call you, and then what—you steal from them before Fisk can? I looked you people up. Your company, 'Leverage', supposedly goes back to 1913—and by the way, who had consultants in 1913?—but it really doesn't. You've been stealing from people, conning people, for over five years. You're thieves and hitmen and hackers and grifters, aren't you? Low-lifes! MURDERERS!"

"What?" said Hardison. "No!" He was more upset that this 'Spider-Man' character had managed to piece together enough information to make such good guesses. It was a personal affront.

"We aren't thieves!" said Parker, then reconsidered. "Well, we are thieves, but we're not the bad guys!"

Eliot growled, "Parker…." He got to his feet. He wobbled a bit. Spider-Man had given him a worse beating than he'd had in a long while.

 _What's worse,_ Eliot thought, _I think he wasn't even trying._

Parker held her hands away from her body. "Eliot, check Hardison, make sure he's okay," she said. "Mr…. Spider-Man? We are thieves. We are con artists. We are trying to con Mr. Fisk, not your neighbors." Peter flinched, and she continued, "It's obvious you have a connection to those people. You either live in that neighborhood, or someone there is your friend. It wasn't a difficult guess."

"Fine," said Peter. "But some of you were at the wrestling ring, so you saw what I can do. I took down your tough guy today, and he's only still alive because I didn't want to kill him. So talk to me. If you're the good guys, why were you stealing from the wrestling ring? And why did your guy kill Ben Parker?"

Parker took a deep breath. Before she could say anything, Eliot spoke.

"Hardison's fine, a few bruises." He looked up at Spider-Man. "And you weren't even trying to kill me. You weren't even trying to beat me up very hard."

Peter said, "I don't kill people."

Eliot said, "Neither do we."

"Fisk is behind it," said Parker. "We can show you everything we've discovered. We want to bring him down. He's skimming from the federal funds dedicated to rebuilding New York City after the Chitauri attack. He's got his fingers in every racket, every gambling den, every arena, every illegal place in the city. He murders people, Spider-Man."

"He murdered a guy tonight," said Hardison, trying to sit up.

"Careful," said Eliot.

"Tell him," said Hardison.

"Fine," said Eliot. "We were escaping from Fisk Tower. We were on the top floor. I saw him murder someone—bashed his head in with a walking cane. He said it was because of how you got involved. He—the murdered guy—hired the man who murdered Ben Parker, then you chased the man down, and they lost the bag."

Parker added, "that bag didn't just have money in it—it had paperwork, documents, that we needed to tie the arena to Fisk. That's what we were after. The thief took the paperwork. Thanks to you, we ended up with it."

"Why steal it? Why not just burn the place down?" asked Peter. He was engrossed in the story despite himself.

"No sense wasting a good gambling racket," said Hardison. "Fisk doesn't want to be traced, but he still wants to skim the profits from that arena, and a ton of other places."

Eliot said, "Then that lowlife murdered Ben Parker, and you got involved. For that, Fisk killed the man who hired him, probably because we showed up. Fisk doesn't like close attention."

"We want to bring Fisk down," said Parker. "What do you want?"

"You're thieves," said Peter. "What do you care about Fisk?"

"Sometimes bad guys make the best good guys," said Parker. "Our old boss used to say that."

"Nathan Ford," said Peter. "Correct?"

"Good guess," muttered Hardison.

"You're the hacker, aren't you?" said Peter. "You're the reason I could barely find anything specific online."

Eliot wasn't happy. "You left stuff on the web about us, Hardison?"

"Someone who calls himself 'Chaos' keeps posting hints," said Peter.

Eliot and Hardison both growled. Peter smiled under his ski mask. "Not a fan, I guess?"

Parker took a step forward. "You broke in without setting off any alarms." She shook her head. "I know I couldn't have made it through those vents."

"I'm smaller than you," said Peter. "And I can… you know what? Why am I telling you anything!"

"Because you can trust us," said Parker. "Because you already trust us."

Later, she would be amazed at how calm she was being, but right now she hoped that Spider-Man would realize they weren't a threat, especially if she could make him see what Leverage, Inc., was all about.

"We are trying to help your neighbors. We can do it. We just need a better plan." She held out her hand to him. "Will you help us?"

"You want us to work with him?" said Eliot. "Are you being more than usually crazy, Parker?"

Parker said, "I like him."

"You like him?" repeated Eliot. "That's your reason? You like him?"

Parker looked at Eliot. "He broke in easier than I could have under the circumstances. He took you down twice. And he managed to make some pretty good guesses about who we are. He's clearly untrained, but he's got talent and," she smiled, "more than a bit of style. I like him."

"He's the kid," said Harrison, suddenly. "Aren't you? May Parker's nephew. You were watching us after the meeting through your window. I researched you. Good, hell, great student—straight-As. Smart. Not supposed to be very athletic, and how do you stick to the ceiling?"

"Is it really you… what's was his name?" asked Parker.

Hardison introduced them, pointing at each of them in turn. "Peter, Parker, Parker, Peter."

Peter knew the jig was up. He also know that maybe, just possibly maybe, he could trust them. He pulled off his ski mask.

"Yeah," he said. "It's me."

"You're a kid," said Eliot. He couldn't believe it.

Hardison said, "Kicked your ass."

Peter smiled. "I'm strong for my age."

"Does your aunt know you're here?" asked Parker.

Peter's eyes widened. "No no no no no no!" he said. "You can't tell her. She doesn't know any of this."

"How are you doing all this?" said Parker. "And can you get off the table?"

Peter did a back-flip into a standing position across the table from her. "I was bitten by a radioactive spider," he said.

"You… got bit by a spider?" said Hardison.

Peter corrected him. "A radioactive spider."

"Oh, it was radioactive. That changes everything," said Hardison. "That makes all the difference."

Peter said, "All I know is, after it bit me, I was sick for a couple of days, and then I could stick to walls and everything."

Suddenly, Peter realized how much he was talking. "Please don't tell my aunt!" he said. His face betrayed his desperation.

 _He'll never be a grifter,_ Parker thought, _but maybe we can use him anyway._

Parker looked over at the others, then back at Peter. "We can avoid telling your secrets," she said. "But here's the thing—we were just talking about how we needed some help."

"You want me to help you guys bring down the biggest mobster in all of New York," Peter said. "Me."

"How did you get in?" she said.

Hardison added, "…without setting off any of my alarms?"

"I have this… I dunno, 'sense'," he said. "Not sure what it is or how it works, but I can sense when danger is coming."

"Like a Jedi Knight?" said Hardison.

Eliot said, "A spider-sense. Like how a spider can feel a fly touch the web." At Hardison's look, he said, "What? I can't know things?"

"No!" said Hardison.

"Spider-sense," said Peter. He nodded. "I like that. I knew the windows were trapped when I went to open them. I could feel how to disable the alarm on the A/C on the roof."

"The vents?" asked Parker.

"I'm very flexible," said Peter. "I didn't used to be, but now…." He shrugged. "I'm like a contortionist."

"Do you spin webs?" asked Eliot.

Peter shook his head. "Nope. I'm flexible, I can climb walls, jump around, and I'm really, really strong. And fast. And I can tell when danger's coming."

"And that's all," muttered Eliot.

"It's enough," said Parker. She pulled up the image of Fisk tower on the screen, and stared at it.

"Uh, guys," said Peter, after a minute of silence, "what's she doing?"

"Parker, sweetheart, do you have a plan?" said Hardison.

"Yeah," she said slowly, as a big smile crossed her face. "You in?" she said to Peter.

"Um… am I in?" Peter said.

"You're in," said Eliot. He held out his hand. "Eliot Spencer."

Peter shook his hand. "Peter Parker," he said. "Um… sorry about, you know, hitting and kicking you. No hard feelings?"

Eliot smirked. "You pack a good punch. You could be even better. You need training."

"He's in," said Hardison. "What's your plan, Parker?"

"There are cameras everywhere inside Fisk Tower, right?" she said. "Everywhere."

"To keep people like us out," said Hardison.

"Eliot," she said, "was there a camera inside Fisk's office?"

He thought back. "I saw two."

"Then that's the plan," Parker said. "We're going to steal ourselves a security system."


	5. Chapter 5

**With Great Power Comes Great Leverage**

 **Chapter 5**

"I do appreciate this, dear," May Parker said over the phone. "But you are helping us already, aren't you?"

"We hope to have everything completed by tomorrow," said Parker, "if everything goes well. But when your nephew showed such interest, how could we resist? He's such a nice kid."

From across the room, Peter smiled and rolled his eyes at her.

May said, "Oh, yes, he really is. He's such a fragile boy, though, that I can't help but worry. You aren't overworking him?"

"He's a whiz with a broom, Mrs. Parker, and he said he could use the money, and Mr. Spencer was tired of doing the sweeping himself," said Parker. "We will drop him back home later. We have a lot of cleaning for him, so don't worry. Okay?"

"I'm sure that will be fine, dear," said May. "Thank you again for all your help."

"You can thank us when we're done, Mrs. Parker. You have a good day now."

Parker hung up the phone. Peter said, in a high voice, "'He's such a nice kid.'"

"'Such a fragile boy,'" said Parker, mocking him back.

"She's my aunt," said Peter. "What can you do?"

Parker smiled. "Come on, kid, suit up."

Peter looked at the clothing they'd found for him—a form-fitting black leotard and a black mask with reflective eyes. "You really think this is a good idea?"

"You stick to walls," said Eliot. "Fisk will figure out you're Spider-Man, but this way it's harder to see you. Trust us—we're professionals."

"How did you all get into this line of work anyway?" asked Peter.

"Maybe we'll tell you later," said Hardison, "after it's all over."

"Sure," said Peter. He grabbed the clothing. "I'll get changed. But I still don't think a guy called Spider-Man would wear an all-black costume!"

"It'll work," said Parker.

Peter muttered, "I just hope the Black Widow doesn't sue me."

* * *

An hour later they were driving back to Fisk Tower.

"Ready?" asked Hardison, who was driving the van.

"You sure this will work?" said Peter.

Eliot nodded. "If the distractions go well, it will work. You remember how to get to the security servers?"

Peter nodded. "You all drilled it in to me enough times. Disable the A/C on the roof, down into the main vent. Bend the metal outward—which I hope isn't reinforced or something—and out into the crawlspace. Avoid the cameras. If there's a laser grid…."

"There will be," said Hardison.

Peter continued, "…use the mirrors. Disks go into the backpack, get back outside, down the side of the tower. You drive by, I leap onto the roof of the van, and we're gone. How many times are you gonna make me say it?"

"That's the last time," said Hardison. "We're driving by as soon as Eliot is in place."

"Get it done, kid," said Eliot. He opened the door and ran toward the bushes, in full view of at least three cameras.

"Your turn, Parker," said Hardison. "Be careful." He had already put the van in gear and was driving around to the loading dock side of the tower.

From the building next door, Parker said, "Ready. Firing the grapple."

"Nice comms," said Peter.

Hardison said, "better than money can buy. Hell, better than S.H.I.E.L.D. uses. I know, I stole their plans."

Peter smiled, and pulled his mask down. "See you in a half hour." He put his hand on the door handle.

Hardison tripped a switch, and let his jammers go to work. He knew Peter would only have seconds.

"Connecting… cameras reacting… they're down! Go go go!"

Peter flung the door open and leaped out, over the small wall, grass, and bushes and landed on the tower. He stuck in place for a moment, then started climbing.

Hardison backed out and drove away. "Good luck, Spider-Man."

* * *

"Eliot Spencer," said Fancy Dan, stepping out of the back door. Ox came out behind him. "I never thought you'd get caught on camera. Isn't it nice to work for a man who has the best equipment, Ox?"

"My best equipment is my fists," said Ox.

"Well said, my overlarge friend, well said," responded Fancy Dan.

"Had to be done," said Eliot. "You picked the wrong kingpin to work for."

"I think we did quite well," said Fancy Dan. "I liked you Eliot, I really did." He raised a gun. "Pity."

A shot rang out as Eliot jumped sideways. Fancy Dan anticipated that, however, and the bullet slammed into Eliot's chest. With a burst of blood, Eliot's body changed direction and landed hard on the grass. He twitched once.

"And thus ends the story of the late Eliot Spencer," said Fancy Dan. "Short, and of no consequence."

* * *

Parker landed on an upper balcony of Fisk Tower, disabling a camera with a taser-type gun that Hardison had made especially for her. She smiled. She liked it when he used his brains just for her.

She clamped the other device she was carrying to the railing. Hardison hadn't made this one. She'd purchased it with a great amount of money from a person who made it specifically for people in her line of work. She didn't care about overcharging. She only cared that the seller was reliable and trustworthy. She was betting her life that he was. She'd been betting her life that he was for years, even before meeting her team, and she knew it would work.

She'd just finished when the outdoor lights came on.

"Stay right there," a voice yelled from the other side of the glass. "Or we shoot."

She calmly clipped a carabiner to her belt, and pulled herself up to a sitting position on the railing.

"STOP!" demanded the voice.

Parker waved, and fell backwards. She heard the metal scream of the line feeding out, preventing her from falling too fast. She heard shots from above, and she knew falling glass would catch up to her before she hit the ground. Sure enough, she felt the fragments hit her back when she was about 15 feet away from the ground.

The device stopped her five feet up. She felt the line wobble — Fisk's security were trying to disable it, probably just so they could say they did something. She unhooked herself. She landed with a roll and ran away into the night. From up above she heard screams as her very expensive escape device started to melt down. No sense in letting Fisk trace it back to the man she bought it from. Archie, her mentor, had recommended him personally, and she didn't want to cause him trouble.

After all, she would need another one someday.

* * *

"Hello, Mr. Fisk? Wilson Fisk?"

"Who is this! How did you get this number!" Fisk demanded, screaming into the phone on his desk. None of his staff was there that late, so he was answering his own phone, and something happened that hadn't happened in years—a number he didn't recognize was on the display.

"I got the number the old-fashioned way, from your building's telephone exchange system," said Hardison, speaking from the van, from a burner phone, using a voice disguiser. The call was being bounced around the world, and the final link had come from a suspected warlord in Yemen. Fisk would never be able to trace it.

"And as for who I am," said Hardison, "I am the spirit of vengeance. I am here to make sure you pay for your sins, Mr. Fisk. You are rich and powerful, and you take what you want. We are stealing it back."

Hardison heard voices in the background. He smiled. Everything was right on schedule.

"I'm afraid that isn't going to happen, my mysterious friend," said Fisk. "My security has just informed me that your thief was repulsed from the building, and your hitter has been killed. I am already tracing this call."

There were more voices in the background.

"Good luck with that," said Hardison.

"We are having good luck," said Mr. Fisk. "I hire the best, and you are not it. Yemen? A pitiful attempt at distraction. Just stay were you are. A team is on the way."

Hardison's eyes grew big. He threw the phone out the window and started the van. He was already a block away when a group of men on foot ran up the block.

"Crap," he said. "Guys, he blew through my traces like they were nothing. I'm driving out, then I'll try to get close enough to pick up Peter."

* * *

Fancy Dan leaned over Eliot, and poked up with a gun. "Something's not right," he said.

Ox said, "What's not right?"

Eliot grabbed Dan's gun arm, and pulled. "This," he said, flipping Dan over him and into a tree. Eliot leaped to his feet, and gave Dan a hard kick. Fancy Dan went limp.

"What happened? He shot you!" said Ox.

"Ox, old pal," said Eliot, "even you must have heard of Kevlar." He rapped his knuckles on his chest.

Ox took a swing at Eliot, who dodged. One punch to the face drove Ox back a step, and a combination of another punch and a kick drove him to his knees. Eliot didn't press his luck, though. He ran before Ox could get back to his feet.

"I'll heading for the secondary rendezvous," he said.

"Meet you there," said Parker.

"I'll get you guys after I pick up Peter," said Hardison. He was randomly turning on each street, hoping that nobody was following him with a drone. He turned completely around in one city block, but saw nothing following him.

It was all up to Peter now.

* * *

Peter had made it inside without incident, even though it seemed nearly everything around him set off his newly-named spider-sense. He managed to dodge cameras, trip wires, and more than one laser beam. When he reached the security server room, he saw that Hardison was right—there was a laser grid across the vent. Fortunately, it looked just like the one that Hardison had made him practice on. Gingerly, nervously waiting for his spider-sense to go off again, he lowered the mirrors into place. No alarms went off, either internal or external. It was easy to remove the grate and crawl into the room, making sure to stay away from the cameras.

He took the backup disks out of their sorted boxes, and quickly put them into his backpack. The disks from today were still in the machines, and those were what he needed most.

 _I'll be in full view of the camera,_ he thought. _But I'm wearing this black outfit, and nobody will know who I am._

He took a deep breath, then fell from the ceiling in front of the servers, and started ejecting the disks as fast as he could hit buttons. He could tell from the comms that everything wasn't going as well as Parker had hoped, but distractions were distractions, and he ought to be able to steal everything before security could reach him.

He was zipping up the backpack when his spider-sense flared and he saw the door knob turning. He jumped to the ceiling and crawled into the vent as fast as he could. Gunshots went off behind him. He crawled full speed, and managed to keep ahead of the shots until he was outside of the room.

"Guys," he said, "they're shooting at me! They're shooting at me!"

"Do you have the disks?" said Eliot.

"Yeah, I got today's disks and the older ones," said Peter. "But they're shooting at me!"

"Then get to the roof, and get out!" said Eliot.

Peter nodded, even though he knew Eliot couldn't see him do it. "I'm on my way."

Suddenly, alarms blared everywhere, and spikes erupted from the junction ahead of him.

"Spikes? Are you kidding me?" he said. "Guys, I'm cut off. I can't make it out of the vents."

"Kick the side of the shaft open, and try to make it to the roof," said Parker.

"Got it," said Peter, and did that. The crawlspace was wide enough, but the ceiling wasn't strong enough. His spider-sense flared, but everything he grabbed onto fell with him. He let out a cry of pain when he hit the floor of the office. The lights were off, but the city lights shone through the plate-glass window.

"They're going to find me," he whispered.

"Where are you?" demanded Parker.

"I fell through the ceiling into an office," said Peter. "There's no way out!"

"Is there a desk?" said Eliot.

"I'm not hiding under a desk," said Peter. He was starting to panic.

"Kid," said Eliot, "pick up the desk and throw it through the window as hard as you can. With your strength, the window will break easy."

Peter stopped. "I can do that," he said. The metal desk felt light with the combination of spider-strength and pure adrenaline, and he hurled it at the window. With a loud CRASH! the window broke, leaving a big hole. "It worked!" he said.

The door behind him opened. Peter turned to see Wilson Fisk step through.

"I think we should have a talk," the Kingpin said.


	6. Chapter 6

**With Great Power Comes Great Leverage**

 **Chapter 6**

"Peter!" said Eliot. "Get out of there now! Go!"

Peter was frozen with fear. He couldn't have moved if he'd wanted to.

"You have invaded my place of business," said Fisk. "That alone will result in your death. Give me what is in that backpack you wear, and I will make your death merciful."

"No, thanks," said Peter. "I've heard of your idea of mercy. You're more of a do-it-yourself kind of guy, aren't you?"

"A man, no matter how rarified a position he holds, should never be afraid to get his hands dirty," said Fisk. "But before you die, you must tell me. You are clearly one of these men who are blessed with abilities. A Captain America, perhaps, or are the abilities augmented, like Tony Stark's Iron Man? Or are you from elsewhere, like the one with the hammer?"

Peter said nothing. After a moment, Fisk continued.

"I suppose it does not matter," he said. "But still… a man with your abilities, to commit common thievery… I must ask, why? Why do you do this? Who are you working for?"

Peter said, "Of course. You don't know who I am. You don't know me. You don't know why I'm doing this."

"Don't answer him," said Eliot.

Hardison added, "Don't tell him ANYTHING."

Peter ignored the voices from the comms.

"I have some things to say," said Peter. "Things I wanted to say ever since I knew who you were. These are things that are very important to me. I wrote them down, so I wouldn't forget, in case I ran into you."

He pulled out some index cards.

"What are you doing?" said Eliot. "Parker, what is he doing?"

"No idea," said Parker.

Peter coughed, and read the first card.

"You are so fat," he said, "that when you cut yourself shaving, marshmallow fluff comes out."

Wilson Fisk was immobile with disbelief. He literally could not believe what he had just heard. No one had spoken to him like that since he was in grade school.

"No?" said Peter. "How about this one? You are so fat that your high school yearbook photo was taken from a blimp."

Fisk clenched his hands. His face grew red.

"Tough room," said Peter. "How about… you're so fat that when you get on a scale, it says, 'one at a time.'"

Fisk screamed, and ran at Peter with outstretched hands. "YOU SON OF A…."

"Your belly button makes an echo. When you back up we hear a beeping sound."

Peter let his spider-sense guide him, and easily dodged Fisk's attacks with his speed and agility.

"How about this?" said Peter. "You are so fat and arrogant and evil that you think you can rob and steal, corrupt people, and do whatever you want because you have all the power. But I'm gonna tip everything you own right down on top of you."

He dodged once more, and landed next to the hole in the broken window.

"Because," he said, "I have all the leverage."

He jumped out, grabbing on to the glass, and ran on all fours around the corner. He heard Fisk screaming out the window behind him.

"I'm almost back," said Hardison. "Which side?"

"Uh…." Peter looked where he was going. "Front. I'll be down in a few seconds."

He heard a screech of tires, and saw Hardison's van turn the corner and drive along the front of the building. Peter leaped for a tree. It was almost out of his range, but he caught a branch and hit the ground running.

"Keep driving!" yelled Peter, and with a hop and jump he hit the side of the van, and stuck there. "Go!"

Hardison kept driving with one hand, and rolled the front window down with the other. Peter climbed in.

"You're-so-fat jokes?" said Hardison. "Really?"

"What, did I violate the thieves union rules?" said Peter. "I'm not a 'bad guy,' Hardison. I'm just a kid."

The van pulled up short, letting Parker and Eliot get in.

"No tails," said Eliot. "We're good."

"So you guys do that kind of thing all the time," said Peter. "Wow."

"Usually without fat jokes," said Parker.

"It's… a bit of a rush," said Peter. He looked down. "My hands are shaking. Why are my hands shaking?"

"You get used to it," said Parker.

"Not sure I want to," muttered Peter. He looked back. "Hey, what are you doing?"

Parker was emptying Peter's backpack, dumping the disks into an overnight box. Eliot was changing shirts to one that looked like a shipping company.

"We've got to get them to someone who can do the right thing," said Hardison. "All the paperwork from the arena, too. A reporter can do a lot with that. The stories will run for weeks."

"You didn't tell me?" said Peter.

"Wasn't your part of the job," said Eliot.

"It's your first time," said Parker. She handed the sealed box to Eliot. "We wanted to avoid giving you any distractions, Mr. Fat Jokes."

Peter smiled. "I couldn't resist. He's just so big!"

The van pulled up at the _Daily Bugle_ building. Eliot hopped out, and ran inside the front door with the package. After talking with the security guard at the front desk, Eliot entered the elevators. In a few minutes, he came back out.

"All delivered," he said. "He'll see it on his desk in the morning."

"Who's it for?" asked Peter.

"A reporter named Ben Urich," said Hardison. "He publishes stories about corruption, and he'll know what to do with the disks, especially when he sees a murder on one of them. Forty-eight hours from now, New York's Kingpin of Crime will either be in jail or fleeing the country." She smiled. "We'll put some pressure on the judge once the news comes out, and your neighborhood will be safe."

"Wow," said Peter. "I mean… wow. I mean… thank you."

They drove back to their HQ, and collapsed into chairs. Hardison was still a little worried that someone might be following them, but Peter told them he didn't sense any danger, which made Eliot smile.

"I could've used a spider-sense in a lot of places I've been," he said.

"What were you doing in those places?" asked Peter.

Eliot closed his eyes. "Stuff I don't do anymore." He stood up. "Get changed, kid," he said. "I'll drive you home."

Peter was quiet on the drive home. Eliot let him have his space for a few minutes, then spoke up.

"So," he said, "fat jokes aside, you did pretty well. What did you think of the work?"

Peter thought. "It was… exciting. Scary. Is it worth it? To risk your lives like this?"

"Yes," said Eliot. "We're doing a lot of good for people who don't have anyone else to help them. There's no fame or glory—I mean, we aren't 'The Amazing Spider-Man'—but I can sleep at night." Eliot looked over at Peter. "And there have been times in my life when I didn't sleep well."

Peter nodded. "The 'Amazing' part was just for the wrestling match," he said. "I liked the other one I came up with—'Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.' I could get to like helping ordinary folks. People like my aunt."

"There are a lot of people like your aunt," said Eliot.

"My uncle… he told me something before he died," said Peter. "He said that with great power comes great responsibility. Since the spider bite, I have all this power, and I think I need to do something good with it."

He was quiet for a moment. "You know I let him get away," said Peter, in a quiet voice. "You were there. The manager cheated me, paid me less than I deserved. I was angry at him, so I let the thief get away. And then he murdered my uncle."

"With great power comes great responsibility," said Eliot, letting Peter have his grief. "I like it. Kind of a _noblesse oblige_ thing." He glanced over at Peter. "It's French."

"Yeah, I saw The Scarlet Pimpernel, too," said Peter. "They made us watch it in British Lit."

"Not everybody we take down is like the Kingpin," said Eliot. "Bad guys come in all sizes. But we could use the help, and if you want to help people, you could use some training."

"You want me to join you," said Peter. "Be a thief."

"No," said Eliot, "we want you to join us, and be a 'good guy.' We haven't had a 'good guy,' an honest man, on our team since Nate left. Maybe it's time we had another one. The pay's good, too."

Peter chuckled. "My aunt could use the money," he said. "But I'm still in high school, you know. You guys go all over the world."

"It's an after school job," said Eliot. "We'll call it an internship or something. You help us out while we're in the city. Your aunt doesn't lose the house, you put a lot of money away for college, we help people."

"College?" said Peter.

Eliot shrugged. "Gotta learn something in life."

Peter nodded. "And we keep this a secret from my aunt."

"Don't worry," said Eliot, "we're good with secrets."

They pulled up to Peter's house. Peter looked out the car window at it. It was just a small old house standing on a dark street, surrounded by other small old houses very much like it. A light was on upstairs, and he knew his aunt was waiting up for him.

"With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility," he repeated. He looked at Eliot, and stuck out his hand. "I'm in. I'll take the job."

"See you tomorrow after school," said Eliot, and shook his hand. "I'll let Hardison know, and he'll get you on the payroll. 'Night, kid… Peter."

Peter closed the door, and watched Eliot drive away.

Inside, he checked on his aunt.

"Peter?" she said. "You were out very late."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he said. "It turned into kind of a job interview. I guess I impressed them with my work ethic, or something. They want me to be an intern, they said. If you're okay with it, it would be an after school job, and they said the pay is good. I can earn enough to help out with things here."

"You don't have to worry about getting a job, Peter," said May. "We'll do fine."

Peter smiled. His aunt didn't want him to worry, and he knew it. "I know, Aunt May, but I want to help out, and this is a good job. I can learn a lot from them, and they help people. And I can save some money for college, too."

"Are they going to help us, dear?" she asked.

He nodded. "That's one reason I was late. They were waiting for… something, I'm not sure, but they said that a lot of stuff about the Ki… about Wilson Fisk is going to come out in the papers in the next few days. We'll be okay, Aunt May. We will."

"And did you help them, Peter?" she asked.

He smiled. "I organized some computer disks for them," he said. "So, can I take the job?"

Aunt May sighed. "I worry about you, Peter. But I think you'll be okay with those people. They seemed nice."

"They're good people," he agreed. "Thanks, Aunt May." He gave her a kiss, and went to his room. He kept the lights off and got into bed. He looked out his window into the night until he fell asleep.

* * *

Two days later, the headline in the _Daily Bugle_ was "Wilson Fisk: Threat or Menace?" The article's last line reported that Fisk had left the country. Peter didn't read it, however—he was busy digging through his father's old files, looking for a particular journal he remembered. Finally, he found it.

"Eureka," he said. He opened the old journal to a bookmarked page filled with a complex biochemical formula. "Adhesive Test #392" was the title. Underneath, his father had written, " **FAILURE**. Dissolves in approx. 1 hour. Useless for industrial purposes."

Peter smiled. "You thought it was a failure, Dad, but I think it's perfect," he said. "I wonder if Hardison might want to make me a web-shooter?"

THE END.

 _I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. And yes, before you say anything, I blatantly absconded with the you're-so-fat jokes from Ultimate Spider-Man. They were too fun to leave alone._


End file.
